Dr. Dan Flynn was a contemporary of Tavener Heyward as well as a friend of Fair Haristeen. Fair was decades younger than the other two men, and he thought very highly of them.
“And what did Ginger Flynn have to say about Ruffie?”
“Oh, he just needed his rabies booster shot, all his other boosters, and I got him a heartworm shot, too. They’ve got shots now so you don’t have to remember to give them the heartworm pills each month. Ruffie hates pills.” Like most pet owners, Carmen adored her wirehaired dachshund and assumed everyone else did, too, which in Crozet was a relatively safe assumption.
Rick, not a pet owner himself, thought animal lovers were all addled, but he nodded, feigning interest. “When was that?”
“Thursday.”
“What did you say?”
“Hello, Shithead.” She burst out laughing.
Rick couldn’t help it, but he laughed, too. There was an insouciance about Carmen, a rowdy spiritedness, that made you like her even when she was crude.
“And what did he say?”
“Actually, he, um, he surprised me. I thought he’d say something ugly back, but he didn’t. He nodded hello sort of and climbed into his Ford Harley-Davidson truck and drove off. Do you know how much he paid for that truck? Had to be the special issue Harley-Davidson. That truck broke us up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you want to play second fiddle to a truck?”
“In my line of work, Carmen, playing second fiddle would be a step up.” He inhaled then exhaled from his nostrils, two blue plumes curling over his upper lip.
“Yeah, you have to kiss ass a lot. I could never do it. That’s why I opened my own beauty shop, Shear Heaven. I’m my own boss. They don’t do it my way, it’s the highway.”
“Business is good?”
“Business is great. I specialize in color. A woman turns thirty and, Rick, she turns to me.” She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together. “I’ve got no competition in Crozet. Well, I take that back. West Main, but they’re in Charlottesville. They’re good and we all get along. But other than that, no one can do color for squat. I even colored Barry’s hair once. Gave him a magenta streak for sideburns. Cool.”
“Who would want to kill Barry other than yourself?”
“I thought an animal killed Barry.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Looks that way. But there’s enough that’s unusual about his passing that makes me want to know more.” He smiled. “And it’s been a slow week. I might as well keep busy.”
“Nothing’s slow around Charlottesville anymore.”
“Well, let’s just say the weather’s been good, hardly any accidents, the kids are out of school so that lightens the load, and there haven’t been many break-ins. A slow week. Anyway, I might as well justify the trust you place in me.”
“Oh, brother.” She rolled her eyes, a dark shade of blue thanks to colored contacts. “What was unusual?”
“No marks on him. No tire tracks. No animal tracks. No struggle.”
She held the cigarette at her lip, paused a long time, then took a deep, deep drag. “Yeah, that is pretty unusual. I mean, if Barry was going to get it, I figure a woman would just let him have it with a thirty-eight, you know? Or he’d piss off some boyfriend and die in a brawl, a tire iron wrapped ’round his neck. I never figured on anything like this.” A wistful note crept into her voice.
“Maybe he wasn’t all that bad?” Rick placed the cigarette pack on the table.
She tilted her chin upward. “He wasn’t all that good.” She pulled the ashtray toward her. “Oh, hell, he was just a man. Men think of themselves first.”
“When we’re young I think that’s a fair assessment. But, Carmen, some men do grow up.”
“Barry? Never. He was a big kid who wanted to play with his truck, dance, hang out, and have sex. I used to think he loved me, but I think I was just kind of there. I was convenient. That’s when I walked. If I’m not special, I’m walking.”
“Did he have enemies?”
“Nah. Oh, ex-girlfriends for a while, but most of them got over it. I guess I would have, too.” She stared at the ashtray, then up at Rick for a minute. “I don’t really want him dead.”
“I didn’t think so.” Rick felt in his pocket for change. “I need a Co-Cola. How about I fetch you one?”
“Sure.”
“While I’m down the hall, maybe something will come into your mind. Anything.” He left and walked to the bank of food machines. The place was quiet. The dispatcher sat at her desk. Most of the force on this first Tuesday in June prowled around in their patrol cars. When he returned, Carmen had finished her cigarette and awaited him with her hands folded on the table.
“Here you go, girl.”
“Thanks, Rick. I guess I should call you Sheriff, seeing as how this is an official visit.”
“Better than calling me Shithead.”
“I’d never call you that. I’d give your wife that privilege.”
He smiled. “You won’t believe this, but she has never called me that.”
“I can believe it. She’s such a lady.” Carmen cut and colored Bettina Shaw’s hair. Betts was an attractive forty-one, perhaps ten pounds overweight. Like most women she obsessed about her weight, but Rick thought she looked just fine. It was a strong marriage.
“Think of anything?”
“Nah.”
“Do you know if he was dating anyone new?”
“He wanted to go out with Tazio Chappars, but she was way above his head.”
“He told you that?”
“No, but I could tell. Barry was transparent.”
“Hmm. Carmen, you’ve been helpful and thanks for your time. If you think of anything, let me know.”
“I will. Was it true he was still alive when Harry found him?”
“Yes.”
“Funny.”
“How so?”
“That was another one he had a crush on, but she was above his raisins, too.”
“She know that?”
“No.”
“I guess if I was with someone who looked around as much as Barry did, it would pluck my nerves, too,” Rick said.
“I could just tell. He wouldn’t do anything. Not while we were together. And if he did he would be singing soprano. You’re right about that.” She reached for another cigarette from his pack as Rick nodded that was fine. “Did think of one thing.”
“Oh?”
“He said he sold a yearling. His share gave him enough to buy that Ford model Harley-Davidson truck.”
“Yes.”
“I never believed him.”
8
Huge carpenter bees buzzed under the eaves of the barn.
“Talk about big butts.” Pewter sniffed as a tiny thread of fresh-chewed wood sprinkled on her black nose.
“They make those holes up there and they’re as round as if they had measured them.” Mrs. Murphy, too, watched the bees, which could have been mistaken for bumblebees except that the carpenter bees’ black bottoms weren’t fuzzy.
Tuesday, the first of June, perfect, a light breeze, low seventies, grass as green as emeralds, produced a euphoria in the animals. Although six o’clock in the evening, the light gilded the weathervane, the barn, the outbuildings, and the neat clapboard house. The sun wouldn’t set until around nine, and the summer twilights lingered, filling the sky with colors of surpassing beauty.
Harry’s three horses, Poptart, Gin Fizz, and Tomahawk, dined on redbud clover, which enlivened the green pastures with dark pink dots. She mixed redbud clover, orchard grass, and a little rye in her fields. This year she experimented with some alfalfa down by the creek bottom, between her farm and that of Blair Bainbridge.